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Welcome Hi, welcome to . Thanks for your edit to the The Affinity Bridge page. ' '. It's an easy way to keep track of your contributions and helps you communicate with the rest of the community. You may also find the Manual of Style to be helpful in abiding by Zombiepedia's standards, and avoiding reverted contributions. Please leave a message on my talk page if you have any questions or comments. Have a nice day! — [[User:Philodox|'<<— ''Philodox —>>']] talk Fan Fiction Unregistered editors cannot create fan fiction. Please create an account, and look into proper naming comventions for Fan Fiction. — [[User:Philodox|'<<— Philodox —>>''']] talk 19:19, April 8, 2013 (UTC) The Affinity Bridge A NewBury and Hobes Investigation. Prologue India 1901 Auguest The flies. Always the damn flies. Harrison slapped at the insects buzzing incesstantly around his face and checked his rifle for the fith time that hour. The heat was proving even more oppressive than usual and the hair at the nape of his neck was damp with perspiration, his uniform tight and uncomftorable. The other two weren't faring much better, either: Hargreaves was perched on a nearby rock taking a long swig from his water bottle and Taylor was pacing backwords-and-forwards, kicking miserably at the dirt. Only two days remained before the start of their return journey to England, and the liutenant was still driving them hard, forcing them to go out on patrol in the stifling midday sun. Harrison cursed under his breath. The man was a egomaniac. From the craggy outcropping on which he stood, Harrison could just make out the village they had trudged their way here from ; a small collection of farms and ramshackle buildings that leaned awkwardly against eachother like rows of uneasy siblings. Behind him, a line of trees marked the edge of the village boundaries, and to his left a series of distant specks denoted a smattering of local farm workes, hard at work tending to their crops in the fields of leafy green. The place had an air of expectancy about it; like somehow it was holding its breath in anticipation of something yet to come. Yawning, he turned to his companions, resting his rifle against a nearby rock. "So, what's the first thing your going to do when we get back to london?" They'd had this conversation a hundred times in the last few weeks, and he already knew what Hargreaves was going to say. Still, it was a conversation that reminded them all of home, and as far as Harrison was concerned that was no bad thing. Hargreaves looked up from his water bottle. He mirrored the other mans smile. "The minute I step of that airship I'm heading for a pint in the Fox and Hound. I've missed the sorry beggars that prop up the bar in there, and I've missed a good pint of English ale". He chuckled at the memories. "After that who knows? Maybe I'll take the train out to Berkshire and spend some time on my parents farm." He glanced over at Taylor, who was still kicking up clouds of dust with his feet, a bemused look on his face. Hargreaves dabbed at the perspiration beading his forehead with the back of hid sleeve and then leaned in conspiratorially. "Not sure about him, though". He indicated the other man with his water bottle. "He's not in a good way. Too wet behind the ears for the things he's seen out here". He lowerd his voice even further. "May be the asylum for him, when we finally get home. Poor sod". Harrison let the comment pass without a response. They'd all been too wet behind the ears for the things they'd seen out here. India was a world apart from England, even with its thin veneer of Empire. He couldn't wait to get home, to get away from the heat and the noise and the ever-present flies. He watched Taylor for a moment, pacing backwards and forwards like an animal trapped in a cage. Hargreaves was right, of course; India had to be done for him now. But the asylum? Even the thought of it made him shudder. He'd visited it once, back in Wandsworth, and the screaming of the inmates still rang out in his dreams, sometimes, during the long nights when he lay there trying not to think of all the terrible things he'd seen. If Taylor was headed for the asylum, what hope was there for the rest of them? Repressing another Shudder, turned attntion back to Hargreaves. "Well, if luck be with me my Ruth will be waiting at the airship port when we arrive." He smiled at the thought of her. In another week he'd be holding her in his arms, spinning her round in the pale winter sun. His heart felt like it would burst in his chest. That was the thing that would keep him sane, the thing that he was out here fighting for; his life back in England, and the lives of everyone he loved. Hargreaves smiled. He'd heard all of this before. He reached for his water bottle once again, and Harrison turned to survey the horrizon once more. There was a shuffling sound from behind him. At first, Harrison assumed it was Taylor, still kicking awkwardly at the sun-baked soil with his boots. Then he became aware of a quiet whimpering sound, like that of a frightened animal, and felt his hackels rise. He turned around slowly on the spot. His heart was hammering in his chest. What he saw was enough to send him running for the asylum himself. The creature that was menacing Taylor was like something raised from the very depths of hades itself. It was dressed in torn rags of an Indian peasant, and may have been once human, but now looked more like a half-rotted corpse than anything resembling a man. The creatures skin was desiccated and peeling, its eyes bloodshot, its hair hanging in loose, stringy strands around its face. Its teeth were bared in a rabid snarl and it was bearing down on a terrified Taylor. Harrison presumed that it had crept out from the cover of the nearby trees when they hadn't been paying attention. Taylor was on his knees before it, using his arms to cover his face from the beast as if simply tring to will it out of existence. Harrison scrambled hurriedly for his rifle, fumbling as he attempted to bring the barrel to bear on the horryfying creature.